THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

BEQUEST 

OF 
ANITA  D.  S.  BLAKE 


THIS   THEN   IS 


U 


PLAND 


ASTURES 


BEING  SOME  OUT-DOOR 
ESSAYS  DEALING  WITH 
THE  BEAUTIFULTHINGS 
THAT  THE  SPRING  AND 
SUMMER  BRING  £,  £,  A 

By  ADELINE    KNAPP 


Done  into  a  book  at  the  Roycroft  Pri 
ing  Shop  in  East  Aurora,    New  York 

MDCCCXCVII 


Add 'I 
GIFT 


Copyrighted  by 

The  Roycroft  Printing  Shop 

1897 


OF  THIS  EDITION  THERE  WERE 
PRINTED  BUT  SIX  HUNDRED  COPIES 
A  EACH  BOOK  IS  SIGNED  AND  NUM 
BERED  :  THIS  BOOK  IS  NUMBER  ; , 


r  ±46 


HEN  the  warm  rains 
succeed  winter's  driv 
ing  downpours,  and  the 
young  grass  begins  to 
mantle  the  meadows  ¥ 
with  tender  green,  is 
i  the  time ,  of  all  the  year, 
to  be  out  of  doors  /§^£> 
All  the  woodsy  places  are  cool  and  dripping 
and  dim  and  delicious.  A  month  later  they 
will  be  not  less  beautiful,  perhaps,  but  less 
approachable.  The  things  of  Nature  grow  so 
phisticated  as  the  season  advances.  In  the 
early  springtime  they  are  frank  and  confiding, 
and  willingly  tell  the  secrets  of  their  growth 
to  him  who  asks  $t  They  have  time,  in  these 
first  beginnings  of  things,  for  friendly  socia 
bility  :  to  show  their  tiny  roots  and  bulbs, 
and  let  us  study  the  delicate,  gracious  unfol^- 
ings  of  leaf  and  bud  and  blossom.  In  alfew 
weeks  they  will  all  be  too  busy,  keeping  ^f/ 
with  the  season's  swift  march,  to  stop  ana 
visit  with  the  lovingest  of  human  friends,  v 
Do  we  forget,  from  springtime  to  springtime, 
how  lovely  will  be  the  year's  awakening? 
Each  winter  of  our  discontei^i^think  that  I 
remember,  as  my  longing  imagipartion  looks 
forward,  the  tender  charm  of  the  springtime 
wonder,  yet  with  each  recurrit^year  it  comes 
to  me  as  a  new  and  unknown  joy 

9 


ft.  P  '  /  The  whole  world  seems  to  welcome  the  new 
year-child.  Even  before  the  first  growths  ap 
pear  there  is  a  hushed  awareness  throughout 
Nature  that  moves  the  heart  to  thankfulness 
and  remembered  expectation  |fe  The  hope  of 
springtime  comes  without  stint,  and  without 
fail,  bringing  each  one  of  us  the  message  his 
heart  is  prepared  to  receive,  and  quickening 
our  purest,  least  sordid  impulses.  The  best 
that  is  in  us  seems  possible,  in  the  spring 
time.  Who  of  us  does  not  then  dream  that 
this  best  will  yet  gain  strength  to  withstand 
the  heat  and  drouth  of  summer's  fierce  search 
ing  ?  We  turn  to  Mother  Nature  like  children 
who  long  to  be  good.  The  worshipping  in 
stinct  that  lies  deep  within  each  soul  goes 
out  to  her,  vesting  her  in  that  personality 
which  we  have  long  since  pronounced  un 
thinkable  when  applied  to  God.  There  is  a 
suggestion  in  the  situation  that  is  not  with 
out  a  certain  saving  humor  to  relieve  it  from 
grotesqueness.  We  are  not  far  from  a  per 
sonal  god  when  we  send  our  souls  out  in  lov 
ing  contemplation  of  personified  Nature,  yet 
we  still  go  on  asking  if  God  is,  and  if  He  is 
Truth.  Whom  do  we  ask,  and  why  does  the 
question  rise?  If  God  is  Truth,  He  must  be 
universal ;  and  to  be  perceived  by  each  soul 
for  himself  >^£>  If,  then,  I  perceive  him  not, 
either  He  is  not  the  truth  or  else  I  am  simple 
10 


and  sincere  in  desiring  the  truth.  If  He  is  not 
the  truth,  do  I  then  desire  human  persuasion      Cpa0fute0 
that  He  is  ?  Or,  if  I  am  not  simple  and  sin 
cere,  who  can  make  me  so  ? 

ATURE  will  help  us  if  we  turn  to 
her.  We  have  filled  our  lives  so 
full  of  complexities  and  problems 
that  it  is  well  for  us  to  have  her 


annual  reminder  that  even  without  our  taking 
thought  about  it  the  real  world,  that  will  be 
here  when  we,  with  all  our  busyness,  shall 
have  passed  from  sight,  has  renewed  itself, 
and  stands  bidding  us  come  and  find  peace. 
For  Nature  keeps  open  house  for  us,  and  even 
when  we  visit  her  and  leave  a  trail  of  dust 
and  desolation  behind  us,  like  the  stupid,  un 
tidy  children  we  are,  she  only  sets  herself, 
with  the  silent,  persistent  patience  of  her 
age-wise  motherhood,  to  cover  and  remove 
it.  Down  in  the  canyon,  this  morning,  among 
the  trillium  and  loosestrife  and  wild  potato, 
I  found  the  inevitable  tin  can  left  by  some 
picnicker  to  mar  and  desecrate  the  land 
scape,  but  now  completely  filled  with  soft 
brown  mold,  and  growing  in  it  a  mass  of 
happy  green  wood-sorrel  ^ 
This  is  better  than  going  at  things  with  a 
broom,  gathering  them  up  and  removing  them 
from  one  place  to  another,  which  is  about  as 
far  as  we  humans  have  progressed  in  our 

ii 


science  of  cleaning  up  *&&  I  was  glad  to  wel- 
come  the  trillium.  How  one  loves  its  quaint 
old  name  of  wake-robin,  fitting  title  for  this 
first  harbinger  of  spring,  that  comes  to  us 
even  before  the  robin's  note  is  heard.  Many 
of  our  common   wild-flowers   have   several 
names,  but  there  is  none  with  such  invari 
ably  pretty  ones  as  all  ages  have  united  in 
bestowing  upon  wake-robin.  Birth-root,  our 
forefathers  called  it,  seeing  the  birth  of  the 
new  year  in   its    early  blossoming,  and 
how  many  generations  have  known 
it  as  the  trinity-flower!  But  'tis 
best  known,!  think, as  wake- 
robin,  and  the  very 
breath  of  spring  is 
in  the  name. 


12 


MEMBER  of  the  great  lily  family 
is  wake-robin  ~^2yV  It  loves  damp, 
shady  places  and  moist,  rich  val 
leys.  On  the  Pacific  Coast  we  do 
not  find  the  typical  Eastern  variety,  but  we 
have  a  variety  of  our  own,  tho'  unmistakably 
wake-robin. Its  color  varies  from  rich  madder- 
red  to  pale-pink,  sometimes  almost  white.  It 
grows  from  a  thick,  tuber-like  root,  and  the 
calyx  has,  surrounding  its  three  red  petals 
and  three  green  sepals,  three  broad,  mottled- 
green  leaves  which,  for  some  unaccountable 
reason,  our  florists  remove  when  they  offer 
the  flower  for  sale.  A  strange  whimsy,  this. 
The  poor  blossoms,  thus  denuded,  have  a  be 
wildered,  self-conscious  air,  such  as  may 
have  been  worn  by  the  little  egg-selling  wom 
an  of  old,  who  awoke  from  her  nap  by  the 
king's  highway  to  find  her  petticoats  shorn. 
Well  may  wake-robin  thus  question  its  own 
identity.  It  is  no  longer  the  trillium  of  th§ 
forest :  it  is  only  the  trillium  of -commerce,  a|,./" 
sad,  unlovely  object  K&^£> 
A  bank  where  wake-robin  lifts  its  kpnny  head 
is  always  fair  to  see.  The  plant  has  certain 
boon  companions  always  sure  tojie  close  at 
hand.  The  Solomon's  seal  is  one  of  these,  its 
roots  bearing  to  this  day  the  round  marks  im-/ 
agined  by  the  early  foresters  to  be  none  otl^f 
than  the  seal  of  Solomon,  the  son  of  David, 

13 


(on  both  of  whom  be  peace  !)  •*&£  There  is 
no  more  exquisite  green  than  the  beautiful, 
shining  leaves  of  this  plant,  with  its  tiny 
white  bells  of  flowers.  It  has  a  near  relative 
almost  always  growing  near  it,  that,  with 
singular  paucity  of  imagination,  our  botanists 
have  called  "  False  Solomon's  Seal." 

IOW  we  reveal  our  mental  habits 
through  this  trick  we  have  of  fals 
ifying  the  plants.  We  say  "  false  " 
[asphodel,  "false"  rice,  "false" 
hellebore,  "  false  "  spikenard  and  mitrewort, 
but  the  falsity  is  in  our  own  vain  imaginings. 
The  plants  are  as  true  as  the  earth  that  bears 
them,  or  the  rain  and  the  sunshine  that  bring 
them  to  perfection.  The  Solomon's  seal  is 
one  lily,  the  "false"  Solomon's  seal  another. 
Man  may  be  false,  "  perilous  Godheads  of 
choosing  "  are  his,  but  the  wild  things  of  the 
woods  are  true,  each  in  the  order  of  its  nat 
ure  "*£&  There  are  no  complexities  or  sub- 
tilities  about  wake-robin,  here  by  the  stream- 
side.  You  may  see  it  at  a  glance,  for  its  prin 
ciples  are  brief  and  fundamental,  as  wise  old 
Marcus  Aurelius  bids  us  let  our  own  be,  and 
yet,  the  plant  has  had  its  vicissitudes  ;  has 
met  and  solved  its  problems.  Reasoning  from 
analogies,  time  must  have  been  when,  like 
others  of  its  great  family,  it  grew  in  the 
water,  floating  out  its  broad  leaves,  lolling  at 


ease  on  the  surface  of  swampy,  watery  places 
and  still  ponds.  Times  changed.  Lands  rose 
and  waters  subsided,  and  wake-robin  found 
itself  in  the  midst  of  new   conditions.  The 
problem  of  self-support  confronted  it,  and  the 
plant  solved  it  by  divesting  from  its  broad, 
sustaining   sepals   nutriment   to   enable   the 
long,  swaying  stem  to  meet  the  new  demands 
upon  it.  It  still  loves  water  and  seeks  cool, 
damp  woods  and  deep  canyons,  growing  be 
side  little  streams  where  it  lifts  its  face  to 
greet  the  springtime.  It  is  probably  not  so  big 
as  when  it  rested  luxuriously  upon  the  water, 
but  it  is  wake-robin,  still,  and  it  does  more 
than  summon  the  birds  :  it  calls  each  of 
us  back  to  Nature,  bidding  us  keep 
our  hearts  and  souls  alive  to  see, 
with  each  renewing  of  spring 
time,  and  to  love  afresh, 
the  miracles  of  Nat 
ure's  redemptive 
force. 


fltoefuree 


HE  beauty  of  springtime, 
like  the  beauty  of  child 
hood,  is  always  new.  All 
about  me  the  things  of  Na 
ture  are  still  in  the  mysti 
cal,  subtile  tenderness  of 
their  young,  green  growth. 
The  golden  days  of  autumn 
are  full  of  their  own  beauty. 
The  grey  days  of  winter's 
mist  and  fog  have  theirs, 
there  is  something  in 
the  tender  blue  days  of  the 
rainy  springtime  that  sets 
the  heart  apraise,  and  «&&• 
brings  out  as  nothing  else 
can,  the  meanings  of  leaf 
I  and  bud,  of  flower  and  tree. 
It  is  raining,  now. Up  above 
me,  on  the  road,  several 
picnickers  who  have  been 
caught  in  this  April  shower 
are  hurrying  to  shelter  Jg) 
They  look  down  curiously 
I  at  me,  here  under  the  wil 
low,  and  I  have  somemis- 

as  to  whether  thev 
not  settmS  an  example 
at  I  should  follow  *=^jg> 
But  I  am  sure  that  it  is  a 


great  mistake  always  to  know  enough  to  go 
in  when  it  rains.  One  may  keep  snug  and  dry  £ba&futt6 
by  such  knowledge,  but  one  misses  a  world 
of  loveliness.  There  is,  after  all,  a  certain  se 
lective  wisdom  that  sees  the  desirability  of 
taking  the  showers  as  they  come. 

IHERE  is  something  peculiarly 
tender  and  loving  about  an 
April  shower.  One  is  so  fully 
conscious, even  while  the  drops 
are  falling,  that  the  sun  is  shin- 
jing  behind  the  light  clouds, 
the  drops  themselves  come  down  so 
gently,  tentatively  offering  themselves,  as  it 
were,to  the  welcoming  earth — pattering  light 
ly  on  the  leaves,  and  softly  rippling  the  sur 
face  of  the  little  pool  under  the  willows.  That 
is  a  wonderful  sort  of  comparison  the  Hebrew 
poet  gives  us  when  he  likens  the  teaching  of 
truth  to  the  small  rain  upon  the  tender  herb  : 
the  showers  upon  the  green  grass  "^ 
The  young  colt  in  the  stall,  yonder,  thrusts 
an  eager  head  over  the  half-door,  and  with 
soft  black  muzzle  in  the  air,  stands  with  open 
mouth  to  catch  the  delicious  trickle.  The 
cattle  on  the  hills  seem  glad  of  the  wetting. 
Even  the  birds  have  not  sought  shelter,  and 
why  should  I  ?  djb  I  love  to  watch  the  leaves  of 
the  trees  and  plants,  in  the  rain.  They  tell  us 
so  many  secrets  about  the  life  of  which  they 


are  a  part.  Why,  for  instance,  does  this  pond 
lily  spread  out  its  broad,  pleasant  leaves  upon 
the  -water's  surface,  while  its  cousin  the 
brodeia  has  long,  narrow,  grass-like  leaves  ? 
Why  do  the  leaves  of  the  pungent  worm 
wood,  here,  stand  rigidly  pointing  upwards, 
while  those  of  this  big  oak  are  spread  out  be 
fore  the  descending  rain  ? 

^ATCH  the  wormwood.  See  how 
Ithe  raindrops  quiver  for  an  in 
stant  on  the  tips  of  the  pinnate 
'leaves,  then  follow  one  another 
in  a  mad  chase  down  the  groove  that  trav 
erses  the  center  of  each  leaf.  Notice  that  the 
leaf  itself  rises  from  three  ridges  on  the  stem 
of  the  plant,  and  that  between  these  ridges 
lie  shallow  grooves  down  which  the  rain 
drops  run  to  the  plant's  root.  Now,  we  can 
tell  from  these  signs  what  sort  of  a  root  the 
wormwood  has.  I  never  pulled  one  of  the 
plants,  but  I  am  sure  that  if  we  were  to  do  so 
we  should  find  it  to  have  a  main  tap-root, 
with  no  branches.  All  such  plants  have  leaves 
pointing  upwards,  and  grooved  stems,  admir 
ably  adapted  to  bring  water  to  the  thirsty 
roots.  The  beets  and  the  radishes  afford  us 
capital  examples  of  this  provision  **&& 
This  alfileria  has  another  arrangement  of  leaf, 
for  this  same  purpose.  It  is  a  widely  spread 
ing  forage-plant,  with  an  absurdly  small  root. 
18 


It  needs  a  great  deal  of  moisture,  and  so  its 
stems  are  thickly  set  with  soft,  fuzzy  hairs, 
that  catch  the  water  and  convey  it  to  the 
root  VWIP  Growing  all  along  the  bank  is  the 
little  chickweed,  with  its  tiny  white  star  of  a 
blossom.  If  it  were  not  so  common  we  should 
wax  enthusiastic  over  its  beauty,  and  seek  it 
for  our  garden  borders.  It  has  a  running, 
thread-like  root,  which  receives  the 
raindrops  caught  by  the  stem  in 
a  single   row  of  tiny  hairs 
along    its    lower    side, 
and  sprinkled  gent 
ly  down. 


Cbaefures 


HEN  a  plant  has  a  spreading  root 

^  such  as  the  willow,  yonder,sends 

fflB/ down,  the  leaves  spread  outward 
and  downward,  from  base  to  tip, 
letting  their  gathered  moisture  down  upon 
it.  When  the  plant  grows  under  water  its 
leaves  are  long  and  threadlike ;  for  the  sup 
ply  of  carbon  is  limited,  and  they  divide  mi 
nutely,  that  the  greatest  possible  surface  may 
be  exposed  to  absorb  it.  If  the  stem  grows 
until  the  leaves  reach  the  surface  of  the 
water  they  broaden  and  spread  out,  for  here 
they  get  an  abundant  food  supply  which  they 
may  freely  appropriate,  as  none  of  it  need  be 
diverted  to  build  up  a  supporting  stem.  The 
water  affords  the  leaves  ample  support  ^^ 
The  grasses  grow  in  blades  for  the  same  rea 
son  that  the  plants  growing  under  water  put 
out  slender,  thread-like  leaves.  The  air-supply 
would  seem  abundant,  but  the  grass-leaves 
are  many,  and  low-growing  plants  are  nu 
merous.  So  they  divide  and  sub-divide,  that 
greater  surface  may  be  presented  to  the  sun 
light  and  the  air.  In  this  form  the  blades  are 
fittest  to  obtain  their  necessary  food  supply 
and  thus  to  survive.  We  see  this  same  ten 
dency  in  the  leaves  of  the  wild  poppy,  the 
buttercup  and  all  the  great  crowfoot  family. 
Across  the  road  stretches  a  line  of  locusts, 
just  now  in  dainty,  snowy,  fragrant  blossom. 
20 


The  individuality  of  a  tree  is  a  constant  and 
delightful  fact  in  Nature.  The  locust  is  asun-  rfvigfufes 
like  the  oak  or  the  willow  as  can  well  be  im 
agined,  yet  like  them  in  taking  on  an  added 
and  characteristic  loveliness  in  the  rain.  How 
delicately  the  branches  pencil  themselves 
against  the  blue  and  silver  of  the  cloudy  sky 
and  the  dark  green  of  the  orchard  beyond 
them !  The  leaves  have  such  a  purely  inci 
dental  air.  The  lines  of  the  tree  were,  them 
selves,  lovely  enough  in  their  green  and  mossy 
wetness,  to  delight  the  eye.  To  deck  them  so 
laceywise  in  an  openwork  of  leaf  and  blos 
som  was  beneficent  gratuity  on  the  part  of 
Mother  Nature,for  the  pleasing  of  her  children. 
OWN  below,  where  the  creek  wid 
ens,  the  sycamores  have  grown  to 
great  size.  How  they  help  the  heart, 
these  gnarly  giants,  with  the  'white 
patches  against  the  greys  and  blacks  of  their 
rough  trunks !  **£&  How  they  spread  their 
branches  against  the  sky  and  beckon  and 
point  the  beholder  upwards.  The  sylvan 
prophet  bears  a  promise  of  good, and  demands 
of  every  passer-by  the  query  of  the  wise  old 
stoic:  "Who  is  he  that  shall  hinder  thee 
from  being  good  and  simple  ?  " 
Over  the  rounded  hill,  stealing  softly,  in  In 
dian  file,  through  the  mist,  a  row  of  eucalyp 
tus  trees  climb,  fringing  up  the  slopes.  These 

21 


(Jtpftwfc 


ladies  of  the  hilltop  have  a  fashion  of  growing 
thus,  and  in  no  other  position  is  their  delicate, 
suggestive  beauty  more  apparent.  The  eucal 
yptus  is  an  original  genius  among  trees,  never 
repeating  itself.  It  stands  for  endless  variety, 
for  strong  good  cheer,  for  faith  that  seeks  and 
reaches  and  goes  on,  never  wavering  **£&  It 
blesses  as  well  as  delights  its  friends.  I  love 
its  wonderful,  ever  varying  leaves,  its  up- 
reaching,  outstretching  branches,  and  the  an 
nual  surprise  of  its  mystic  blossoming.  Each 
tree  is  distinct  and  individual  in  its  growth, 
yet  every  one  is  typical  of  the  genus. 

IS  a  tree  of  the  wind  and  the  storm. 
See  how  those  in  yonder  group  sway 
and  courtesy,  bow  and  beckon,  advance 
and  retreat  in  the  light  breeze  !  And  the 
rain  does  such  marvels  to  them  in  the 
way  of  color,  tinting  the  leaves  into 
wondrous  things  of  glistening  black-and-sil- 
ver,  and  bringing  out  exquisite, evasive  greens 
and  browns,  red  and  rose  colors,  tender  blues 
and  greys,  from  the  trunks  and  branches  jjt 
All  the  things  of  Nature  are  for  man's  use 
and  joy,  but  perhaps  they  serve  their  very 
highest  use  when  we  return  God  thanks  for 
their  beauty  J§£b 

Yes,  I  am  sure  that  there  is  a  wisdom  wiser 
than  the  prudence  which  sends  us  in  out  of 
the  rain.  The  flowers  and  the  grasses  teach 
22 


us  more  than  has  ever  been  put  between  the 
covers  of  books.  The  trees  bring  us  the  real  $k8tutt 
news  of  the  real  world  long  before  they  are 
crushed  into  pulp  and  made  into  the  paper 
on  which  is  printed  our  morning  service  from 
the  scandal  monger  and  the  stock  broker.  It 
was  heralded  as  a  marvelous  triumph  of  mod 
ern  ingenuity  when,  the  other  day,  a  forest 
tree  was  cut  down  and  made  into  paper  on 
which  the  news  of  the  world  was  printed  and 
hawked  along  the  streets  within  four  and  one- 
half  hours  from  the  moment  when  the  axe 
was  laid  at  the  root  of  the  tree.  Marvelously 
clever,  that,  but  shall  we  ever  be  wise  enough 
to  bring  the  trees  themselves  to  the  city,  in 
stead  ?  If  we  were  but  able  to  read  the  mes 
sage  they  bear,  the  newspaper  might  go  away 
into  outer  darkness,  whence  it  sprang. 

HERE  is  a  fearful  moment  of  reck 
oning  before  us  should  it  ever 
chance  that  when  all  our  trees 
shall  have  been  sacrificed  on  the 
altar  of  the  patron-fiend  of  news,  the  news 
paper  supply  shall  suddenly  be  cut  off  and 
we  find  ourselves  some  fine  morning  minus 
our  tidbits  of  shame  and  failure  and  disaster* 
left  to  the  companionship  of  our  own 
thoughts  djb  Dante  never  imagine d^a^ejiror 
like  this  "*$<&& 
But  the  sun  has  come  out  again.  The  i 

23  1 


OVer  and  gone.  Only  the  last  treasured  drops 

chase  one  another  along  the  leaves  and  down 

the  stems  of  the  plants.  Our  picnickers  are 

venturing  forth  >&&>  The  wet  blades  of  grass 

sparkle  in  the  sunlight.  Over  on  the  bank  a 

ruby-throated    hummer    is  flying  back  and 

forth  across  a  tiny  stream  that  patters  and 

splashes   against  a  rock.  These  morsels  of 

birds  love  a  shower-bath  and  this  fellow 

now   has  one  exactly  to  his   mind. 

The  clouds  have  drifted  down  the 

sky  and  everything    seems 

glad    and    grateful    for 

"the  useful  trouble 

of  the  rain." 


NCE  upon  a  time  man  con 
ceived  the  belief  that  this  uni 
verse,  with  its  many  worlds 
swinging  through  space,  was 
created  for  him.  He  fancied 
that  the  sun  shone  by  day  to 
warm  and  vivify  him  ;  that  the  stars  of  night 
were  none  other  than  lamps  to  his  feet ;  that 
the  other  animals  existed  to  afford  him  food 
and  clothing — and  sport ;  that  the  very  flow 
ers  of  the  field  blossomed  and  fruited  and 
were  beautiful  for  his  gratification.  In  fact, 
man  conceived  the  belief  that  instead  of  being 
the  wise  brother  and  helper  of  this  creation 
amidst  which  he  moves,  he  was  the  great  cen 
tral  pivot  upon  which  all  revolves  $t 
A  sorry  lesson,  surely,  for  man  to  read  into 
the  broad,  open  page  of  Nature's  great  book. 
Small  wonder  that  to  him  in  his  meanness 
its  message  came  as  "  the  painful  riddle 
the  earth."  But  it  was  the  best  he  could  do : 
it  is  the  best  any  of  us  can  do  until  we  have 
learned  the  great  lesson  which  the  ancient 
Wise  One  has  written  out  for  us — which  she 
will  teach  us,  in  time,  through  death,  if  we- 
will  not  let  her  teach  it  through  life  :  the  leV 
son  that  use  is  not  appropriation ;  that  ap 
propriation  sets  use  to  groan  and  sweat  under 
fardels  of  evilMMIP 

We  are  learning  this  lesson,  with  a  bad  grace, 

,<*-     25. 


like  blundering  school  boys,  fumbling  at  our 
hornbook,  stuttering  and  stammering  over 
the  alphabet  of  life,  the  while  our  minds  wan 
der  stupidly  off  to  the  playthings  of  our  un 
holy  civilization.  Perhaps  some  day  we  shall 
spell  out  something  of  this  riddle  which  we 
have  made  so  painful,  and  with  the  lesson 
get  somewhat  of  the  humility  that  comes 
with  knowing  ^^3 

But  now  man  does  not  read  the  book  of  Nat 
ure  to  much  better  purpose  than  he  reads 
those  other  volumes,  written  by  himself,  and 
bought  by  himself,  in  bulk,  to  adorn  his  li 
braries  :  portly  tomes  to  which  he  may  point 
with  pride  as  evidence  that  at  least  his  shelves 
hold  wisdom,  tho'  his  head  may  never. 

'  USE  no  figure  of  speech  when  I 
say  that  we  may  now  buy  our  books 
in  bulk.  I  saw,  only  this  morning, 
the  advertisement  of  a  large  dry 
goods  "  emporium  "  ('tis  laces  and  literature 
now)  wherein  is  announced  for  sale  the  bound 
volumes  of  a  popular  magazine.  "  Over  eight 
pounds  of  the  choicest  reading,  bound  in  the 
usual  style — olive  green. "r^&> 
Nature  has  olive  greens,  too,  in  styles  usual 
and  unusual,  and  she  has  marvelous  messages 
for  her  lovers,  but  she  cannot  be  bought  in 
bulk,  nor  put  upon  shelves,  nor  even  carried 
in  the  head  until  she  first  be  received  into  the 
26 


heart  •$*>  A  little  flaxen  haired  girl  brought 
me,  this  morning,  a  pure  white  buttercup  on 
the  stem  with  three  yellow  ones. 
"  See,"  she  said,  "  Here  is  one  buttercup  they 
forgot  to  paint. "^^» 

I  took  the  flower  from  her  hand.  I  could  not 
tell  her  just  how  it  happened  that  this  one 
perianth  was  white,  but  I  explained  to  her 
something  of  how  the  others  came  to  be  yel 
low  "^v  What  we  call  a  flower  is  not,  usually, 
the  flower  at  all,  but  merely  its  petals.  The 
real  flower  is  the  cluster,  in  the  center  of  the 
calyx,  of  pistils  and  their  surrounding  pollen- 
bearing  stamens.  Away  back  in  the  ages  when 
man  had  not  yet  developed  his  aesthetic  sense, 
perhaps  even  before  he  had  learned  to  make 
fire,  the  primitive  flower  bore  only  these  pis 
tils  and  stamens,  with  a  little  outer  protect 
ive  whorl  of  green  petals.  It  was  fertilized  by 
the  pollen  falling  upon  the  pistils. 

UT  this  was  not  good  for  the  plant. 
Those  flowers  that  in  some  way  be 
came  fertilized  by  pollen  from  other 
lants  of  the  same  variety,  by  cross- 
fertilization,  in  fact, were  healthier  and  strong 
er  than  those  fertilized  by  their  own  pollen. 
In  such  plants  as  wind-blown  pollen  reached 
this  cross-fertilization  was  an  easy  matter, 
but  the  buttercup  is  not  one  of  these.  It  is 
forced  to  rely  upon  insects  for  fertilization. 

27 


(JJpfdnfc 
gfetfure* 


So  the  plant  began  to  secrete  a  sweet  drop  at 
the  base  of  each  green  petal.  Such  insects  as 
discovered  this  nectar  and  stopped  to  sip 
were  dusted  with  the  pollen  of  the  plant  and 
carried  it  to  other  flowers,  where  it  fertilized 
the  pistils,  the  insect  gathering  from  every 
blossom  a  fresh  burden  of  pollen  to  be  car 
ried  along  on  his  nectar-seeking  round.  This 
was  very  good,  so  far  as  it  went,  but  the  flow 
ers  were  pale  and  inconspicuous,  and  many 
of  them,  overlooked  by  the  insects,  were 
never  visited.  Certain  ones,  however,  owing 
to  accidents  or  conditions  of  soil  and  mois 
ture,  had  the  calyx  a  little  larger,  or  brighter 
colored  than  their  fellows,  and  these  the  in 
sects  found.  It  happened,  therefore,  if  any 
thing  ever  does  merely  happen,  that  the  flow 
ers  with  bright  petals  were  fertilized,  and 
their  descendants  were  even  brighter  colored. 
Thus,  in  time,  the  buttercup,  by  the  process 
which,  for  lack  of  a  better  name,  we  call  nat 
ural  selection,  came  to  have  bright  yellow 
petals,  because  these  attract  the  insect  best 
adapted  to  fertilize  it  **ty>  If  man's  aesthetic 
sense  is  gratified  by  the  flower's  beauty,  why 
man  is  by  so  much  the  better  off,  but  that 
man  is  pleased  by  the  bright  color  is  not  half 
so  important  to  the  buttercup  as  is  the  pleas 
ure  of  a  certain  little  winged  beetle  which 
sees  the  shining  golden  cup  and  knows  that 
28 


it  means  honey  ££§  In  the  same  way  the  lupin, 
yonder,  with  its  pretty  blue  and  white  blos 
soms,  has  developed  its  blue  petals  because 
it  is  fertilized  by  the  bees.  They  seek  it  as 
they  do  other  blossoms,  not  only  for  honey, 
but  for  the  pollen  itself,  which  stands  them 
in  place  of  bread  ^?>  The  very  shape  of  the 
flower  is  due  to  the  visits  of  countless  gener 
ations  of  this  insect.  The  bee  is  the  insect 
best  adapted  to  fertilize  the  lupin,  and  when 
he  alights  upon  the  threshold  of  a  blossom 
his  weight  draws  the  lower  petal  down,  and 
entering  to  suck  the  sweets  he  gets  his  head 
dusted  with  pollen.  If  a  fly  were  to  gain  en 
trance  to  the  flower,  he  would  carry  away  no 
pollen.  He  is  smaller  than  the  bee,  and  his 
head  could  not  reach  it.  So  honey-seeking 
flies  alight  in  vain ;  their  weight  is  not  enough 
to  press  the  calyx  open,  so  they  may  not  enter 
and  drink  of  its  sweets.  Yonder  on  a  blossom 
of  the  mimulus,  the  odd-looking  monkey- 
plant,  a  honeybee  just  had  this  same  experi 
ence.  The  bumblebee  is  the  only  insect  that 
is  large  enough  to  reach  the  pollen  in  this 
blossom,  and  so  its  doors  will  open  only  to 
him.  Botanists  tell  us  that  all  this  great  fam 
ily,  to  which  belong  the  various  peas  blos 
soms  and  their  cousins, were  once  five-petaled 
plants, but  natural  selection  has  brought  about 
their  present  shape,  which  is  an  admirable 

;  *9 

'/i  i  < 


protection  against  the  depredations  of  small 
insects  that  could  only  rob  but  could  not  fer 
tilize  the  flowers  **^g 

Blue  is  the  favorite  color  of  the  honeybee, 
and  next  to  blue  he  prefers  red.  So  bee  blos 
soms  are  blue  or  red. 

OST  of  our  small  white  flowers 
are  fertilized  by  insects  that  fly  at 
night.This  is  the  reason  why  white 
blossoms  are  more  fragrant  than 
their  bright-hued  sisters.  Bright  colors  could 
not  be  seen  at  night,  but  the  fragrance  of  the 
white  flowers,  always  more  noticeable  by 
night  than  by  day,  serves  the  same  end — to 
attract  the  useful  insects.  This  is  an  essential 
part  of  Nature's  wonderful  plan.  The  flower 
lives  by  giving  *^ 

There  is  an  endless  fascination  in  this  page 
which  Nature  opens  out  before  us,  in  her  up 
land  pastures.  A  wise  teacher  once  told  me 
his  experience  with  a  restless,  unmanageable 
boy  *£  "I  could  do  nothing  with  him,"  the 
teacher  said,  "  until  I  got  him  interested  in 
field  life."  One  day  this  boy  went  off  on  a  hol 
iday  tramp,  returning  the  day  following.  His 
teacher  asked  him  what  he  had  seen,  and 
this  is  what  he  remembered  of  his  outing: 
"  I  camped  in  a  field  for  the  night,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  saw  a  bee  light  on  a  poppy  and  crawl 
in.  The  poppy  shut  up  and  caught  him.  Next 
30 


morning  I  woke  up  early  and  watched,  and 
by  and  by  the  poppy  opened  and  the  bee 
came  out."  Jy  There  are  those  who  might 
have  missed  the  sacred  significance  of  such  a 
narrative,  but  that  teacher  was  a  very  wise 
man  and  he  knew  that  the  reading  lesson 
given  him  then  was  a  page  from  his  rough 
boy's  soul-life,  and  he  conned  it  with  reverent 
delight.  Life  together  was  more  real  for  them 
both  after  that  day. 

HE  keener  our  realization  of  the 
human  love  that  is  in  the  flowers, 
in  the  trees,  in  all  the  wild  life  about 
as,  the  richer  is  our  humanity,  the 
fuller  our  reception  of  life  and  love,  the  more 
thoughtful  our  use  of  all  the  things  of  Nature 
becomes  v€*^£  Once  I  saw  an  oriole  weaving 
some  bits  of  string  into  his  nest.  He  hung 
head  downwards,  by  one  string,  from  a  pro 
jecting  branch,  and  worked,  for  nearly  an 
hour,  with  beak  and  claws.  Then  he  flew 
away,  triumphant.  Later  I  saw  his  nest  and 
understood  his  action.  He  tied  two  pieces  of 
string  together  in  a  very  respectable  sort  of 
knot :  had  wound  the  long  cord  thus  obtained 
in  and  out  among  the  meshes  of  his  nest  and 
then,  giving  it  a  half-hitch  about  a  twig,  had 
brought  the  free  end  up  and  tied  it  securely 
to  another  small  branch  >^^ 
I  felt  grateful  for  what  that  bird  had  accom- 


(Upftmfc 


plished.  All  human  achievements  seemed  to 
me  worthier  after  seeing  him  do  this  thing. 
Nature  teaches  us  so  much  if  we  will  but 
keep  still  long  enough  to  let  her :  if  we  will 
only  empty  ourselves  of  conceit  and  know- 
ingness,and  get  rid  of  the  notion  that  all  things, 
Nature  included,  are  made  for  us.  We  are 
not  the  lords  of  creation.  We  are  only 
a  small  part,  albeit  the  highest 
part,  of  it  all,  and  the  better 
we  learn  this  lesson  the 
better  men  and  wom 
en  we  shall  be- 
come . 


WAS  SITTING  here  beside  the 
(stream,  watching  the  bees  swarm 
in  and  out  at  the  entrance  to  their 
hive,  when  Hercules  passed  by. 
"  Come  and  watch  the  bees,"  I 
called  as  he  passed.  "  They  are 
[interesting."  $j 

He  stood  and  studied  the  busy 
[workers,  intent  upon  the  business 
of  their  miniature  society  fy 
"I  wonder,"  he  said  at  last,  "if 
pur  human  reason  shall  ever  e- 
volve  a  system  half  so  perfect  as 
the  one  that  mere  instinct  has 
taught  these  feeble  insects."  As  I 
was  silent  he  continued  : 
I"  Well,  at  all  events,  I  can  learn 
rone  lesson  from  the  bees,  and  be 
about  my  business.  If  society  is 
ever  to  be  freed  from  its  burdens 
every  soul  must  do  its  full  duty. 
One  life  wasted  means  a  whole 
world  hindered  just  that  much." 
And  Hercules  was  gone  to  his 
labors  VWK" 

How  fearful  we  all  are  of  wasting 
our  lives,  yet  so  rarely  fearful  for 
the  results  of  the  ceaseless  activ 
ity  with  which  we  crowd  them  * 
[But  Hercules'  words  are  full  of 

33 


suggestiveness.  Is  our  boasted  human  reason 
really  less  adequate  to  the  needs  of  our  life 
than  is  what  we  call  the  instinct,  this  thing 
that  looks  so  much  more  reasonable  than  our 
reason,  of  the  lower  orders  ?  What  if,  after 
all,  we  are  making  a  desperate  mistake  in 
supposing  that  it  is  this  faculty  which  we 
call  reason  that  distinguishes  us  from  the 
brute  creation? 

T  IS  because  the  bees  and  the  other 
dumb  creatures  have  nothing  more  than 
this  measure  of  reason  which  we  call 
instinct,  that  it  serves  them  perfectly. 
Man  has  something  else,  that  draws 
him  higher ;  that  prompts  him  further. 
But  alas  for  us  !  'With  the  destiny  to  live  per 
fectly  as  human  beings,  we  yet  long  for  the 
restrictions  through  which  we  may  live  per 
fectly  as  the  beasts.  We  seek  our  lessons 
from  the  brutes  while  the  Eternal  waits  to 
teach  us.  We  cannot  live  like  the  beasts.  The 
divine  human  spark  within  us  will  not  let  us. 
We  must  live  higher  than  they  or  we  shall 
live  lower,  for  our  perfection  of  order  is  infin 
itely  higher  than  theirs,  and  our  failure  im 
measurably  lower  than  they  can  sink  **^g 
But  we  go  on,  we  modern  Athenians,  seeking 
to  ameliorate  the  conditions  we  have  brought 
upon  society  by  our  own  stupid  disobedience 
and  inhumanity,  and  only  now  and  then  do 
34 


we  have  a  faint  suspicion  that  our  newest 

thoughts  are  but  mere  rephrasings  of  ideas     rfjAgfur** 

old  as  thought  itself  -*-*• 


Men  get  these  new  sets  of  phrases  and  dress 
therein  the  ideas  that  underlie  the  universe. 
We  apply  the  terms  of  science  to  the  old 
faiths  and  think  we  have  invented  a  new  reli 
gion.  We  find  new  names  for  God  Himself, 
and  believe  ourselves  to  have  discovered  a 
new  life-principle^ Loving  the  neighbor  be 
comes  enlightened  altruism,  and  lo,  faith  is 
born  anew,  with  a  subtiler  power  to  redeem 
the  world. 

ERCULES  is  a  Socialist.  He 
always  spells  society  witn  ^ 
great  S,  and  he  declares  t 
in  the  present  state  of  JS 
ety  we  can  take  no  thought 
individuals  ffr  "The  indivkkial 
may  perish,"  he  says,  in  moments  of  elo 
quence,  "  but  the  integrity  of  Society^ust  be 
jealously  maintained. "^^ 
I  wonder,  as  I  sit  here  watching  the  bees, 
whether  Society  might  not,  after  all,  find 
easement  from  its  ails  if  each  individual  of  us, 
myself  and  Hercules  included,  should  pa^ 
strict  attention  to  our  individual  businesfc  of 
growing,  or  becoming  humanized  ? 
Just  here  at  my  hand  a  bee  has  alighted  an 
is  burying  its  nose  in  a 


is  an  example  of  a  life  that  is  lived  only  for 
Cbfc8fure0  Society,  yet  so  important  is  the  individual  in 
the  opinion  of  this  highly  perfected  body  so 
cial,  that  I  have  seen  half  a  dozen  bees,  when 
a  laden  worker  has  arrived  at  the  hive  open 
ing,  weighted  down,  too  exhausted  to  do 
other  than  drop,  helpless,  upon  the  threshold, 
rush  to  its  assistance,  relieve  it  of  its  heavy 
load  and  help  it  to  pass  within  to  gather 
strength  for  further  effort.  The  strict  individ 
ualist  complains,  in  turn,  of  the  bees  because 
they  have  no  individual  life ;  no  existence 
separate  from  the  hive.  This  is  true,  but 
what  higher  individuality  can  any  creature 
desire  than  is  comprised  and  summed  up  in 
the  divine  opportunity  to  bring  his  individual 
gift  to  the  common  store  ? 

HAVE  picked  the  clover  blossom 

BrBPl  that  the  bee  Just  left-  Beside  it  are 
growing  other  blossoms,  and  I  gath 
er  a  couple.  They  are  the  veriest 
wayside  weeds — dandelion  and  dog-fennel — 
but  they  are  important  because  they  are  typ 
ical  representatives  of  the  largest  order  in 
the  floral  kingdom;  an  order  which,  although 
it  was  the  last  to  appear  in  the  vegetable 
world,  has  outstripped  every  other  and  leads 
them  all  today.  Botanists  call  it  the  Compos 
ite  Order.  Its  members  are  really  floral  so 
cialists,  just  as  Hercules  and  the  rest  of  us 


who  believe  that  government  is  an  order  of 

nature,  and  good  for  the  race,  are  human  so-       fi)nehitts 

cialists,  whether  we  know  it  or  not. 


most  of  us  hold  a  mistaken  idea 
the  relation  of  the  individual 
to  the  whole.  We  are  apt  to  theorize 
that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  individual 
to  keep  the  whole  in  order,  and  a  good  many 
of  us  are  fully  convinced  that  the  world 
owes  us  a  living.  So  it  does,  and  it  behooves 
each  one  of  us  to  be  faithful  in  discharging 
his  individual  share  of  the  aggregate  debt  "%^ 
Nature  has  a  whole  page  about  that  in  her 
wonderful  volumeMMIF 

Take,  for  instance,  this  clover.  What  we  call 
the  blossom  is,  in  reality,  many  blossoms  Jy 
Look  at  the  mass  under  a  glass.  You  will  see 
that  the  clover  head  is  made  up  of  numerous 
minute  cups  in  a  compact  cluster.  Each  cup 
is  a  perfect  blossom.  As  we  now  see  it  in  the 
clover  it  is  a  tiny  tube,  but  it  once  possessed 
five  slender  petals  which  are  now  united  -Jf 
The  little  pointed  scollops  that  rim  the  cup 
suggest  these  petals.  Now,  the  tiny  cup  is  de 
scended  from  a  five-petaled  ancestor,  grow 
ing  upon  its  individual  stem  and  depending 
upon  insects  for  its  fertilization.  The  flower 
was  small,  however,  and  many  of  them  must 
have  been  overlooked  by  the  insects  v^ 
But  those  blossoms  that,  growing  very  close 

37 


(TJpfdnb 
(Jtaefuree 


together,  formed  little  clusters,  were  more 
conspicuous  than  the  solitary  ones,  and  were 
discovered,  visited  for  their  honey  and  inci 
dentally  fertilized  by  the  winged  freebooters. 
These  blossoms  bore  fruit  and  their  descend 
ants  inherited  the  social  instinct  prompting 
them  to  draw  together  that  each  might  give 
the  other  its  help  and  co-operation  in  attract 
ing  the  insects.  So,  by  degrees,  the  co-opera 
tive  habit  became  fixed  in  the  clover,  and  in 
many  other  plants,  until  the  compositse  be 
came  a  botanical  fact.  In  other  words,  the  in 
dividuals  formed  a  body  social  of  their  own, 
growing  from  a  compact  cluster  from  a  com 
mon  stem,  each  giving  and  receiving,  con 
stantly,  its  use  and  share  in  the  common  life. 
The  many-petaled  flowers  found  it  inconven 
ient  to  arrange  themselves  in  the  composite 
order,  and  so,  as  we  see  in  the  clover,  the 
petals  have  pressed  closely  together  and  unit 
ed  to  form  a  tube-shaped  flower,  and  as  the 
tubular  form  is  best  adapted  to  receive  fertil 
ization  by  the  bee,  which  insect  is  the  most 
useful  to  the  clover  blossom,  that  form  has 
been  perpetuated  in  this  plant. 

HUS  by  the  simple  process  of  each 
individual  giving  itself  to  the  com 
mon  life,  the  mutual  protection  and 
development  of  the  whole,  this  or 
der  of  plants  has  become  the  largest  in  the 
38 


floral  kingdom.  The  composite  have  circled 
the  globe.  They  fill  our  hothouses  and  flour 
ish  in  our  gardens;  they  greet  us  by  the  dusty 
road,  and  in  the  summer  woods.  The  lovely 
golden-rod,  the  sturdy  asters,  the  aristocratic 
chrysanthemums,  the  dainty  daisies  all  be 
long  to  this  great  order.  So  does  helianthus, 
the  big,  beaming  sunflower. 

'T  is  quite  true  that  each  blossom  of 
the  compositse  has  given  its  life  to 
the  race.  But  what  if,  after  all,  life 
with  our  fellows  is  a  giving  instead 


of  the  receiving  we  are  wont  to  think 
What  if,  after  all,  the  true  outlook  upon  So 
ciety  will  one  day  show  us  that  our  neighbor 
is  put  here  that  we  may  have  the  great,  the 
inestimable  joy  of  living  for  him?  /4rt8fc 
All  matter  is  made  up  of  molecules,  Science 
tells  us,  and  there  is  another  Voice  as  of  one 
having  authority,  which  tells  us  that  One 
hath  made  of  one  blood  all  nations  of  men  for 
to  dwell  upon  the  face  of  the  earth  ^^ 
We  humans  are  but  larger  molecules  in  the 
body  social.  We  live  only  in  so  far  as  the 
common  life  flows  through  us.  We  never 
fully,  in  our  plans,  and  by  a  wonderful  pro 
vision  of  Divine  Wisdom  we  cannot  give  one 
another  that  which  is  really  and  unmistaka 
bly  our  own.  No  human  thought,  even,  ever 
traveled  a  straight  course  from  one  human 

39 


soul  to  another  and  was  received  exactly  as 
it  was  sent.  We  live  our  lives  each  within  the 
molecular  envelope  of  his  individual  body, 
and  we  can  no  more  mix,  in  reality,  than  the 
molecules  mix.  We  live  only  in  the  flux  and 
reflux  of  the  Life  of  all,  and  only  as  we  pass 
this  on  have  power  to  receive. 

T  is  when  life  is  fullest  that  we  turn 
to  our  fellows.  Those  of  us  who  are 
true  know  that  then  we  need  them 
most,  and  so,  our  real  drawings  to 
gether  are  in  order  that  we  may  give.  We 
know  this  in  that  secret  part  of  us  where  lies 
what  most  of  us  call  our  human  weakness, 
but  we  are  faithless  to  the  knowledge,  and 
choose  to  live  on  a  lower  plane,  within  that 
outer  circle  "which  we  call  knowing  -*^We 
think  we  come  together  to  receive,  but  who 
of  us  does  not  know  the  emptiness  of  death 
that  lies  in  such  coming?  We  are  all  a  little 
better  than  this.  In  secret  we  know  that  it  is 
more  blessed  to  give  than  receive,  but  we  are 
ashamed  of  the  knowledge^^^-, 
We  are  less  simple  and  true  than  the  dande 
lion,  the  dog-fennel  and  the  sweet-clover  here 
in  the  grass.  The  small  common  blossoms 
grow  so  cheerily  one  is  glad  to  come  back  to 
them.  It  is  true  that  not  one  wee  tube  or 
strap  or  head  in  any  cluster  could  have  much 
life  outside  the  aggregate  blossom,  but  the  in- 
40 


tegrity  and  perfection  of  each  is  an  essential 
factor  in  the  integrity  and  perfection  of  the  £f)&&fu¥C6 
whole.  The  tiny  single  flower  that  I  can  pull 
from  this  dandelion  seems  but  an  insignifi 
cant  speck,  but,  by  and  by,  could  it  have 
been  let  alone,  it  would,  its  ripeness  and  per 
fection  attained,  have  taken  to  itself  wings 
and  sailed  fluffily  off  upon  the  breeze  to  re 
new  its  life  perhaps  a  thousand  miles  from 
here.  Seeing  it  float  through  the  air  a  poet 
might  have  found  it  a  theme  for  a  sonnet.  A 
scientist  might  have  seen  universal  law  em 
bodied  in  its  structure,  or  a  seer  have  rea 
soned  from  it  to  life  eternal. 

JET,  but  for  the  co-operation  of  ^t$,/ 
[fellows  in  the  body  floral,  it  coioW 
not  have  lived  any  more  than,  savd 
ifor  its  fellows,  what  we4cnew  as 
the  dandelion  could  have  lived.  Trie  law  <^f 
co-operation,  like  all  of  Nature's  law^s,  makes^ 
for  Tightness  and  fitness  all  alorig  the  Hue  *f* 
She  teaches  us, with  ever-repeated  emphasis, 
the  lesson  of  independence  of  kind.  The  iso 
lated  being  is,  everywhere,  the  comparatively 
helpless  being.  The  tree  growing  by  itself  in 
the  open  field  often  attains  to  more  symetn^ 
cal  perfection  and  beauty  than  the  tree  in  the 
crowded  forest,  but  woodman  tell  us 
forest  tree  makes  better  timber  -*ty 
We  must  live  with  and  for  oi 


(Upfanb 
Cftotfuree 


does  this  best  who,  in  the  quiet  order  of  the 
common  life,  opens  widest  his  soul  to  the 
Source  thereof,  and  growing  to  the  full 
stature  of  a  man  helps  on  to  per 
fection  what  should  be  that 
composite  flower  of  the 
race, our  human  civ- 
ilization. 


42 


HE  little  spring  here  gush- 
!es  up  and  then  sweeps 
away  along  a  stony  bed 
overgrown  with  brakes  and 
tares.  On  its  margin,  amid 
|  a  tangle  of  wild  blackberry, 
I  have  come  upon  a  forest 
[of  scouring-rush  w^" 
It  is  a  quaint  growth.  I  love 
to  put  my  face  close  to  the 
earth  and,  looking  through 
the  rushes'  green  stems,  to 
fancy  myself  a  wee  brown 
ie,  wandering  among  arigb 
(dense  wilderness  of  pines. 
The  development  of  the 
miniature  trees  is  an  inter 
esting  process  «$>  First  the 
ground  is  covered  with 
slender  brown  fingers  *$*HF 
thrusting  up  through  the 
soil.  These  grow  rapidly, 
and  in  a  few  days  spread 
out  their  brief,  verticillate 
branches  to  the  breeze,  as 
proudly  as  any  great  tree 
might  do.  Here  is  a  tiny  fin 
ger  just  pointing  upward; 
yonder  towers  the  giant 
I  of  the  liliputian  forest,  ful- 
43 


(pasture* 


ly  half-a-foot  high.  "  Scouring-weed,"  says 


Cf?&6fure$  the  farmer»  contemptuously,  "  they  aint  no 
good.  Some  call  'em  horsetail." 

|N  fact,  the  queer,  witchy  little  things 
tave  a  number  of  names  :  candle-rush, 
jcouring-rush,  horsetail,  and  their  own 

[proper  appellation,  equisitum.  I  have 
fathered  a  number  of  the  little  trees 

land  they  lie  side  by  side  in  my  palm 
while  my  mind  tries  to  recall  a  few  of  the 
facts  that  go  to  make  up  the  plant's  wonderful 
history.  Our  grandmothers  used  to  strew  their 
floors  with  it,  that  no  careless  tread  might 
soil  the  snowy  boards.  They  used  it,  as  well, 
for  scouring,  hence  its  name.  Those  who  seek 
correspondences  between  the  natural  and 
physical  kingdoms  find  the  rush  an  emblem 
of  cleansing,  and  this  is  precisely  the  office 
which,  since  earliest  creation,  it  has  filled  for 
the  world.  For  our  scouring-rush  was  not  al 
ways  the  puny,  insignificant  thing  we  see  it. 
It  belongs  to  the  carboniferous  age.  It  has 
nothing  to  do  with  our  modern  civilization.  It 
had  reached  its  highest  perfection  and  entered 
upon  its  downward  career  before  man  ap 
peared  on  the  earth.  Its  progenitors  flourished 
with  the  giant  ferns,  the  great,  rank  mosses, 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  carbon-storing  vegeta 
tion.  A  mighty  tree  was  our  little  rush  in 
those  days,  growing  several  hundred  feet  tall 
44 


and  spreading  out  its  huge  whorls  of  branches 
in  every  direction.  So  we  find  it  today,  in  the 
anthracite  beds  of  the  eastern  slope.  What 
happened  to  it  that  we  should  know  it,  living, 
as  this  degenerate  creature  of  the  bog  ? 

N  the  carboniferous  age  the  air  sur 
rounding  the  earth  was  much  warm 
er  than  at  present,  warmer  than  we 
find  it  in  the  tropics.  The  .great  mass 
which  constitutes  this  globe  was  not  yet  cool 
enough  to  support  any  very  high  forms  of  life. 
There  were  no  trees,  as  we  now  understand 
the  word,  and  there  was  very  little  animal 
life.  Beetles  crawled  about,  spiders  and  scor 
pions,  and  'salamanders  big  as  alligators,  but 
there  were  no  mammals,  no  birds  HMIP  The 
world  was  in  twilight,  reeking  with  moist 
ure,  steaming  in  the  warm  air  which  it  filled 
with  all  sorts  of  noxious  gases.  It  rained  aqua 
fortis  and  brimstone,  and  the  sweating  earth 
sent  these  up  again  in  deadly  fog-banks  of, 
poisonous  vapor  *%£& 
These  were  the  conditions  that  our  big 
loved.  Its  huge  spongy  stem  and  branches 
drank  in  life  from  the  death-laden  atnn 
Its  great  creeping  rootstocks  soaked  it  up 
the  morass  beneath  and  the  rush  grew 
riantly.  Its  office  was  indeed  a  cleansing 
to  purify  the  atmosphere  and 
sustain  animal  life.  In  time,  asjthe'feiuge 


Cpaefuree 


meval  trees  reached  maturity,  they  died,  and 
tne  mighty  stems  fell  back  in  the  bog.  Then 
came  some  great  upheaval,  some  cataclysm 
of  nature  such  as  we  find  everywhere  record 
ed  in  her  rocky  books.  The  land  rose  or  sank, 
and  the  rocks  and  debris  of  the  sea  floor  were 
thrown  upon  the  decaying  vegetation.  It  was 
pressed  and  compressed  beneath  this  weight. 
The  fronds  of  the  huge  ferns  ;  the  tall  stems 
of  the  giant  rushes ;  the  monstrous  club-moss 
es,  and  the  primeval  forest  became  a  peat 
bog.  Still  greater  pressure — a  longer  lapse  of 
aeons,  and  the  peat  became  coal. 

burn  them  now,  in  our  grates, 
Ithe  progenitors  of  these  feeble 
'things  lying  here,  limply,  in  my 
'palm.  Is  it  not,  as  I  said,  a  won 
derful  history  the  frail  thing  has.  A  degener 
ate  stock,  botanists  call  it.  So  are  its  cousins 
the  ferns  degenerate,  with  no  botanical  Nor- 
dau  to  sound  warning  against  them.  But  de 
generates  tho'  they  all  are,  they  have  still  the 
spirit  of  the  pioneer.  They  dwell  in  the  out 
posts  of  vegetable  civilization.  We  do  not  find 
them  flourishing  where  Nature  is  in  her  gen 
tlest  moods  *]\  Once,  down  in  the  crater  of 
an  active  volcano,  half-a-mile  from  any  soil, 
growing  from  a  sulphur-stained  black-lava 
floor,  I  found  a  clump  of  waving  green  ferns, 
as  high  as  my  head,  spreading  out  their  broad 


fronds  as  though  to  cover  and  hide  the  terri 
ble  nakedness  of  the  unfinished  earth.  A  thou 
sand  years  from  now  a  grain-field  may  spread 
where  now  those  frail  green  plumes  have  just 
begun  their  gracious  work. 

JHIS  clothing  of  the  earth  and  the 
cleansing  of  the  air  are  the  tasks  the 
giant  rushes  helped  to  perform  for 
|the  young  world.  During  the  pro 
cess  the  rank  gases  of  the  atmosphere  were 
gradually  stored  up  within  their  great  stems. 
Liberated,  now,  in  our  grates  and  retorts  they 
give  us  heat  and  light.  Then,  the  atmosphere 
becoming  purer,  the  earth  cooled  and  life  sus 
taining,  new  growths  appeared.  All  the  con 
ditions  were  improved,  but  the  improvement 
meant  death  to  the  big  rush.  It  was  starving. 
It  could  not  find  food  in  the  thin  air.  Its  roots 
could  not  suck  up  enough  moisture  to  sustain 
life.  It  became  smaller  and  smaller.  Flowers 
and  seeds  it  had  never  borne.  It  now  gave  up 
its  leaves.  Between  every  two  whorls  of 
branches  on  the  scouring-rush  we  find  a  little 
brown,  toothed  sheath  encircling  the  stem. 
In  the  days  of  the  plants'  prosperity  each  of 
these  teeth  was  a  leaf,  but  now  the  rush  can 
maintain  no  such  extravagance  as  leaves,  so 
there  remain  only  these  poor  survivals .  The 
stem  is  hollow,  and  is  divided,  between  the 
whorls  of  branches,  into  closed  sections,  or 

47 


joints.  It  has  also  an  outer  ring  of  hollow 
tubes,  through  which  moisture  is  drawn  up 
from  the  soil,  to  feed  the  branches,  Tbe  rush 
is  a  little  higher  order  of  creation  than  the 
fern,  but  it  is  a  cryptogram;  that  is,  a  plant 
never  bearing  true  seeds,  but  propagating  by 
spores  **&& 

And  so,  fallen  upon  hard  lines,  chilled,  stunt 
ed  by  the  cold,  but  having  a  brief  span  of  life 
when  the  spring  rains  have  made  the 
earth  wet  and  warm,  and  before 
the  summer  heat  has  come 
to  wither  it,we  have  our 
scouring-rush  only 
a  few  inches 
high. 


ND  this  branched  stem  which  we 
see  is  not  fertile.  'Tis  enough  for 
it  to  support  its  waving  green 
feather.  The  fertile  stems  are  not 
branched.  They  appear  above  the  earth,  pale 
and  shrinking  ;  put  forth  no  branches,  but  live 
a  brief  season,  develop  their  spores  and  dis 
appear  v^j|r 

The  growth  of  the  scouring-rush  seems  to  me 
to  show  something  beautiful,  as  well  as  in 
teresting. There  is  a  certain  light-hearted  gaie 
ty  in  the  waving,  tree-like  thing  which  makes 
one  forget  that  it  is  a  degenerate  stock,  and 
doomed  to  destruction.  Still  a  little  work  re 
mains  for  it  to  do  :  still  some  waste  places  and 
miasmatic  bogs  to  be  cleansed  and  purified, 
and  so  the  little  rush  grows  on,  the  merest 
shadow  of  its  once  opulent  self.  I  am  sure  that 
the  last  horsetail  to  be  seen  on  earth  will  grow 
just  as  breezily,  as  greenly  and  as  cheerily  as 
any  now  waving  in  this  make-believe  en 
chanted  forest  at  my  feet  i$^ 
And  who  knows  what  may  be  the  fate  of  that 
which  was  the  real  life  of  that  ancient  plant. 
— the  forces  of  light  and  heat  set  free  in  our 
furnaces  and  forges,  to  begin,  again,  their  of 
fice  of  ministering  use  ?  ^^ 
Did  the  giant  rush  die  ?  Does  anything  die  ? 
Ages  have  seen  the  rushes  fall  and  pass  from 
sight,  to  wake  to  glorious  light  in  the  leaping 

49 


flames.  We  see  leaves  fall  each  year  and  turn 
(pastures    to  mold  from  which  other  life-forms  spring. 
There  will  be  other  poppies,  next  year,  where 
yonder  orange-red  blossoms  nod  in  the  breeze. 
The  waving  grain,  already  headed  out  and 
bowing  under  its  burden  of  raindrops,  was  but 
a  few  months  since  a  mere  handful  of  dry  ker 
nels.  They  were  cast  upon  the  ground,  and 
they  died,  if  that  tossing  sea  of  green  is  death. 
We  see  these  things  recurring  upon  every 
side  of  us,  yet  we  still  go  up  and  down  the 
earth  demanding  of  prophet,  priest  and  poet : 
"  If  a  man  die  shall  he  live  again  ?  "  *^ 
A  far  cry  from  the  little  sprigs  of  scouring- 
rush  in  my  hand  ?  But  Life  is  a  far  cry, 
from  Everlasting  through  Eternity, 
and  who   shall   say,   of    the 
least  of  these,  its  mani 
festations,  "  It  is 
no  good?" 


IOWN  among  the  water- 
cresses,an  hour  ago,study- 
ing  the  movements  of  a 
[mammoth  slug, I  was  star 
tled  by  a  shadow  that  fell 
[directly  across  my  hands. 
[At  the  same  moment  there 
[was  an  excited  flurry  and 
scurrying  to  shelter,  among  a  tuneful  mob  of 
songsparrows  who,  all  unmindful  of  my  pres 
ence,  were  teetering  close  beside  me  upon  the 
tall  mustard  stalks  that  swayed  beneath  their 
weight  **£& 

Looking  upward  I  saw,  between  me  and  the 
sun,  a  pigeon-hawk  soaring  on  motionless 
wings  in  the  freedom  of  the  upper  air.  I 
watched  him  with  a  joy  that  had  no  touch  of 
envy,  as  he  circled  widely  against  the  sky, 
rising, falling,swerving,returning,with  scarce 
ly  a  dip  of  the  strong,  outstretched  wings  *>ta. 
High  though  he  poised,my  thought  could  reach 
him  ;  strong  though  his  flight,  my  fancy  could 
follow  and  outstrip  him.  He,  high  above  the 
mountain-tops,  gazed  downward  to  the  earth. 
His  thoughts,  his  desires  were  $tere.  To  mate 
rialize  them  he  mounted  the  air.  With  my  feet 
upon  the  earth ;  with  no  palpable  pinions 
wherewith  to  climb  the  ether,  yet  have  I 
ments  of  being,  more  trusty  than  h 
ure  of  the  sky  "^V 


O— i  OMETHING  of  this  * 

Passed  through  my  brain 
as  I  watched  the  circling 
hawk.  Once,with  a  flash 
of  his  strong  wings,  he 
made  a  downward  turn 
and,  swift  and  still,  he 
dropped  earthward  ^6^» 

Then,  as  if  frustrated  in  whatever  had  been 
his  design,  he  wheeled  again  and  climbed  as 
s wiftly  up  the  air  $~ 

I  like  that  phrase  as  describing  the  flight  of  a 
bird.  It  is  so  literally  what  the  creature  does. 
A  bird  is  not  superior  to  gravitation.  But  for 
that  force  he  would  be  the  helpless  victim  of 
every  little  breeze,  like  a  balloon,  which  is  un 
able  to  shape  a  course  or  do  anything  but  float 
helplessly  before  the  wind.  The  balloon  floats 
because  it  is  lighter  than  the  air,  but  the  air 
which  the  bird  displaces  is  lighter  than  he, 
and  he  only  moves  in  it  by  virtue  of  his  ability 
to  extract  from  it,  by  the  motion  of  his  wings, 
sufficient  recoil  to  propel  himself  forward. 
He  rises,  as  do  we  humans,  by  means  of  that 
which  resists  him  \§tHp 

I  love  to  watch  the  seagulls.  They  do  this  so 
perfectly,  and  seem  to  delight  to  give  us  les 
sons  in  serial  navigation  as  they  dip  and  whirl 
and  call  about  the  steamers,  on  the  Bay. 
Their  wings  are  so  easy  to  study  while  in  ac- 
52 


tion.  The  first  joint,  to  where  the  wing  bends 
back  and  outward,  is  strong  and  compact,  cup 
shaped  underneath.  The  second  joint  tapers. 
The  feathers  are  long  and  do  not  overlap  so 
closely  as  do  those  of  the  first  joint,  and  at  the 
free  end  they  spread  out  and  turn  upward. 
The  upper  surface  of  the  wing  is  convex,  the 
lower  surface  concave.  In  flying  the  wings  are 
thrown  forward  and  downward.  Flying  is  not 
a  flapping  of  the  wings  up  and  down,  and  if  a 
bird  were  to  strike  its  wings  backward  and 
downward,  as  its  manner  of  flight  is  so  often 
pictured,  it  would  turn  a  forward  somersault 
in  the  air.  _ 

"ITRUCTURALLY  the  wing  of  a 
ibird  is  a  screw.  It  twists  in  oppo 
site  directions  during  the  up  and 
idown  strokes,  and  describes  a  fig 
ure  of  8  in  the  air.  The  bird  throws  its  wings 
forward  and  downward.  The  air  is  forced 
back  and  compressed  in  the  cup-shaped  hol 
lows  of  the  wings,  and  these  latter,  by  the  re 
coil  thus  obtained,  drag  the  body  forward -^fr1 
This  resistance  of  the  air  is  absolutely  essen 
tial  to  flight.  We  who  think  that,  but  for  the 
buffetings  of  hard  fate,  we,  too,  might  soar 
high  and  fly  free  in  the  upper  realm  of  endeav 
or,  should  watch  the  efforts  of  the  birds  in  a 
calm.  We  shall  scarcely  see  them  flying.  If 
impelled  to  flight,  by  necessity,  the  process  is 

53 


(JJpftmb 
(jWurtf 


a  most  laborious  one.  There  being  no  resisting 
-wind  on  which  to  climb  (birds  always  fly 
against  the  wind)  the  climber  must,  by  the 
rapid  action  of  his  wings,  establish  a  recoil 
that  will  send  him  along.  "Watch  the  little 
mud-hen,  flying  close  to  the  surface  of  the  wa 
ter,  ready  to  dive  the  instant  its  timidity  takes 
fright.  Its  wings  vibrate  swiftly,  unceasingly, 
for  it  rarely  rises  high  enough  above  the  water 
to  have  advantage  of  the  air  currents.  For  it 
there  are  no  long,  soaring  sweeps  through  the 
air ;  no  freedom  from  the  labors  of  its  cautious 
flight.  It  is  a  very  spendthrift  of  effort  because 
of  the  timidity  that  never  lets  it  rise  to  the 
sustaining  forces  just  above  its  head.  To  climb 
the  sky  is  not  for  him  who  hugs  cover. 

|O  FLY  !  The  very  thought  sets 
the  nerves  atingle.  It  is  joy  to 
be  afloat,  "  with  a  wet  sheet 
and  a  flowing  sea  and  a  wind 
Ithat  follows  fast.'*  It  is  a  joy 
to  be  on  the  back  of  a  swiftly 
running  horse,  with  the  wind  rushing  away 
from  your  face  as  you  ride,  bearing  every 
care  from  your  brain  r§%&»  But  to  traverse 
the  air — to  fly !  This  joy  we  long  for :  we 
have  an  indisputable,  an  inalienable  right  to 
long  for  it.  To  what  heights  may  we  rise  ? 
This,  after  all,  is  the  question  that  concerns 
us.  Sordid,  creeping  wights  that  we  are,  con- 
54 


stantly  referring  our  heavenward  aspiration 
to  the  desire  of  the  mortal,  we  still 
"  To  man  propose  this  test — 

Thy  body,  at  its  best, 

How  far  can  that  project  its  soul  on  its  lone 
way?" 

UR  VERY  protests,  our  kicking 
against  the  pricks  that  would  incite 
us  to  higher  effort  are  but  our  blind 
fear  lest,  after  all,  they  should  not 
mean  flight.  We  are  afraid  of  our  moments  of 
faith;  ashamed  of  our  aspiring  impulse,  the 
upward  impulse  that  throbbed  through  all  life 
since  the  world  was  born.  We  send  forward 
our  souls  if  haply  they  should  find  God,  while 
we  remain  behind  to  weigh  and  test  their  ev 
idence  when  they  return  to  us — if  they  ever 
do,  hugging  the  surface  the  while,  lest  a  sus 
taining  breath  of  spiritual  force  lift  us  clean 
above  the  safe  shelter  in  which  we  may  dive 
altogether  should  our  returning  souls  bring  ^--^ 
back  news  of  the  meanings  of  life,  scaring  us/  f 
to  cover,  after  all,  by  the  thought  that  we(  \ 

ourselves,  are  heaven  and  hell  **&&  i\jt 

.     ^"-1 

Usually  we  are  content  to  grovel.  We  traverse 
our  little  round  and  declare  it  to  be  destiny. 
We  prate  of  the  limitations  of  our  humanity, 
forgetful  of  that  humanity's  limitless  capaci 
ty  to  receive.  With  insincere  self-abasement 
we  declare  ourselves  to  be  worms  of  the  dust, 

55 


.^c 


and  the  spirits  of  light  who  look  upon  us  may 
readily  believe  our  assertions  j£ 
But  there  are  moments  when  the  scales  fall 
from  our  eyes.  We  get  fleeting  glimpses,  then, 
of  the  meaning  and  the  end  of  our  human  na 
ture.  We  know  that  it  is  in  the  skies.  We 
know  that  we  have  ourselves  fashioned  the 
chain  that  binds  us  to  earth.  We  know  that 
we  were  made  for  flight,  and  we  know  that 
we    know   all    this.    Still   afar    in   the    sky 
the  hawk  soars,  with    downward   gaze 
seeking  his  desire.  Still,  tho'  my  feet 
are   upon   the   earth,  my  spirit 
fares  upward  in  its  flight  to 
ward  its  desire, above  and 
beyond     its    strong 
wings'    farther- 
est  flight. 


5« 


WONDER  whether  the  restless 
(impulse  that  sends  city  folks  hill- 
ward  in  the  springtime  is  not  a 
part  of  the  Divine  Plan  that 
I  would  lead  us  all  to  lift  up  our 

;yes  to  the  hills  whence  our  help 
Icometh.  They  flock  up  here,  the 
city  folks,  during  these  first  spring 
days,  to  eat  their  luncheons  by 
the  roadside  and  to  fill  their  hands 
with  the  poppies  and  wild  hya 
cinth,  the  blue-eyed  grass  and 
pimpernel  that  everywhere  dot 
the  young  meadows'  glowing 
green.  I  hear,  at  night-fall,  moth 
er's  voices  calling  the  little  ones 
to  prepare  for  home-going,  and  I 
love  to  see  the  contented  parties 
go  wandering  down,  the  tiniest 
tired  climber  usually  sound  asleep 
in  his  father's  arms  with  the  sun's 
last  rays  caressing  the  small  face. 
It  is  good  for  them  to  be  here. 
There  is,  in  the  dumbest  of  us,  a 
faint  stirring  of  recognition  that 
the  hope  and  promise  of  life  are 
in  the  young  year.  This  love  of 
[the  childhood  of  things  is  the  best 
thing  our  human  nature  knows : 
the  best  because  there  is  in  it  the 


t&ptarib 


least  of  self.  It  is  a  different  thing  from  the 
(t>a0fure6  love  of  new  beginnings.  It  is  not  new  begin 
nings,  but  first  principles  that  the  soul  seeks, 
now, and  so  we  climb  the  hills, as  naturally  as 
the  daisies  look  upward,  leaving  behind  us  the 
pitiful  aims  that  end  in  self  and  belong  to  the 
dead  level. 

IN  THE  springtime  love  awakens,  born 
anew  in  the  green  wonder  of  the  sea 
son's  childhood.  Yonder  where  the  road 
climbs  the  hill  the  sunlight  is  sifting  in 
long  bars  through  the  eucalyptus  trees, 
(making  a  brown  and  golden  ladder  all 
along   the  way.  In  everything  is  the  fresh, 
tender  suggestion  of  a  Sunday  afternoon  in 
the  springtime.  The  air  is  full  of  the  scent  of 
swamp-willow  and  laurel,  and  the  breath  of 
feeding  cattle  on  the  hills  **^g 
By  the  roadside  He  and  She  walk  shyly  apart. 
They  could  scarcely  clasp  hands  across  the 
space  that  separates  them,  yet  one  seeing 
them  knows  their  hearts  are  close  together. 
The   blue   sky   arches   over  them :  the  soft 
clouds  pass  lightly  above  their  heads :  the 
sunbeams  bring  brighter  rounds  for  the  brown 
and  golden  ladder  his  feet  and  hers  tread  light 
ly.  They  are  palpably  "  of  the  people."  Her 
hands  are  roughened  and  red  from  toil.  His 
shoulders  are  bent  by  the  early  bearings  of 
heavy  burdens.  Neither  He  nor  She  is  over 
58 


twenty  years  old,  and  they  are  poor,  as  some 
count  riches,  but  to  them,  together,  has  come 
the  sweetness  of  life,  and  He  and  She  are 
walking  on  the  heights  ^^ 

ESTERDAY  they  were  but  a  boy 
and  a  girl,  but  today  He  to  her  is 
Manhood;  She, to  him, is 'Woman 
hood, and  in  this  great  human  wil 


Cpaefuree 


derness  they  have  reached  out  and  found  each 
other.  Could  anything  be  more  wonderful  than 
this  ?  Could  anything  exceed  in  beauty  this  se 
cret  of  theirs  that  he  who  runs  may  read  in 
every  line  of  their  illumined  faces  ?  ^^ 
Students  versed  in  the  'ologies  :  sociologists, 
philanthropists,  economists  and  progression 
ists  of  every  sort,  we  know  all  that  you  would 
say.  We  have  heard  your  arguments  time  and 
again.  We  have  listened  to  your  statistics  and 
watched  the  shaking  of  your  head  over  these 
unions  of  the  poor.  But  the  wisdom  of  life  is 
wiser  than  men,  else  He  and  She  would  do 
well  to  listen  to  you  instead  of  walking  to 
gether  here  on  the  hill  road.  They  do  not  know 
these  things  that  we  are  seeking  to  reduce  to 
what  we  call  social  science  ;  and  if  they  should 
know  them,  what  then  ?  Are  they  not  of  more 
value  than  many  sparrows  ?  ^^ 
The  afternoon  shadows  lengthen.  Home-go 
ing  groups  are  beginning  the  long  descent.The 
voices  of  little  children  calling  to  one  another  j 


O 


ing  silverly  over  the  hillside.  He  and  She  are 
not  hastening.  They  have  loitered  along  to 
where  a  bend  in  the  road  affords  a  wide  out 
look  upon  the  city  below,  the  gleaming  bay, 
the  white-winged  ships  coming  in  through  the 
Golden  Gate,  the  distant  hills.  In  her  hand  are 
some  poppies  which  he  gathered. 

OWN  to  the  western  horizon 
sinks  the  sun.  The  gold  has 
faded  from  the  road,  leaving  it 
a  winding  ribbon  of  grey.  The 
crests  of  the  hills  and  the  gen 
tly  swellinguplands  are flooded 
with  crimson  light.  It  touches  the  eucalyptus 
trees  into  glory  and  flames  in  splendor  along 
the  western  sky.  It  lights  her  face  and  his  as 
they  stand  transformed  before  each  other. 
They  do  not  know  that  the  crimson  light  has 
made  them  beautiful.  They  think  the  beauty 
each  sees  is  the  other's,  a  part  of  their  won 
derful  discovery,  and  who  shall  say  that  either 
is  wrong?  It  is  we  who  are  blind,  and  not 
love.  Indeed,  love,  alone,  sees  clearly.  Exter 
nal,  temporal  conditions  have  made  his  body 
less  than  noble ;  have  crossed  his  face  with 
dull,  heavy  lines.  They  have  narrowed  her 
mental  horizon  and  imprisoned  her  soul  in  a 
poor  little  cage, but  He  and  She  are  held  above 
these,  now.  They  have  been  touched  by  the 
finger  of  God,  and  have  seen  each  other's 
60 


beauty,  the  beauty  that  is  their  human  right ; 
that  once  seen  is  never,  again,  wholly  lost. 

IHE  crimson  has  faded 
to  rose,  the  rose  to  & 
wonderful  green — the 
green  has  turned  to  $• 
white.  The  early  moon 
has  come  out  to  light 
the  hill.  Hand  in  hand 
they  are  passing  down 
|the  road.  Hand  in  hand 
they  are  going  through  life,  toiling  together, 
bearing  together  the  burdens  Fate  brings  to 
them.  They  know  not  what  these  may  be.  It 
is  not  given  them  to  know  the  future,  or  by 
taking  thought  to  lighten  its  ills  or  explain  the 
blunders  that  have  heaped  these  up.  They 
have  no  strength  or  power,  but  to  them  has 
been  given  love  <£^y 

Will  love  be  theirs  when  Spring  is  gone  and 
the  summer  drouth  is  upon  them ;  when  Au- 
tum's  harvest  time  is  passed  them  by  and 
Winter's  breath  has  chilled  their  blood  ?  Will 
love  be  theirs  when,  hand  in  hand,  in  the  un 
certain  white  light,they  journey  down  the  hill 
of  life?  HMir 

The  cynic  smiles  at  the  question.  The  scien 
tist  deprecates  it.  Philanthropist  and  sociolo 
gist  shake  their  heads  *§• 
Let  it  pass.  Love  is  their's  now.  The  universe 

61 


(Jlpfanb    is  theirs,  for  each  to  each  is  universal.  The 
Life  of  the  universe  is  in  them,  and  in 
the  shimmering  radiance  that  lights 
the  way,  silvering  the  city  and 
making  long,  shining  paths 
across   the  distant  wa 
ter  as  they  go  walk 
ing   down    the 
hill  road. 


62 


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